


Bridge

by Sulla



Series: Games of Chance [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Facials, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-30
Updated: 2011-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:23:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulla/pseuds/Sulla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the second fic in a series of three complete fics that can be read independently or together.  They are for Jomk for her generous donation to the Australian RSPCA to help with the recent floods.  I hope you enjoy this, the last one and the one to come!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bridge

When John came downstairs after washing up the morning following his 'show' for Sherlock, he'd hoped to find the man still there, perhaps still in situe on the sofa, reading again about feces or something equally charming. But it was not to be - there was no sign of his flatmate, and because of this John was slightly worried. Not that Sherlock _ever_ reported to him where he was going, but it was just that John had hoped to start the day by apologizing to the other man for laughing at the man's visibly very physical reaction to John's wank-off show. It was a very un-feeling thing to do, and he felt very bad about it. He was a doctor, after all; his job was to educate as well as treat, and he'd not done a very good job of it last night. Sherlock had obviously been aroused by what he'd seen, and John had made him feel uncomfortable about it, causing him to flee the scene.

John set himself to making tea, and while waiting for the water to boil, he went to find his laptop so that he could check for any comments on his blog, and to check the BBC website for the latest news. Often a quick look in the London section could give him an idea as to what Sherlock was up to on any given day. John expected that today, as yesterday, much of the home screen coverage would be on the missing diamond and its miraculous re-appearance.

Casting his eyes around the flat, John's consternation rocketed upwards as he realized that the computer, which he had left on the table by the window the night before, was not in its' place. And beyond that, it did not seem to be in the room anywhere at all. The logical explanation is that Sherlock was behind this - god knew it was impossible to keep the man out of his laptop - no password was obscure enough, no hiding place was secure enough. He always, _always_ found it, and put it to whatever purpose he wanted, whether it be because it was simply closer to where he was sitting, or because he didn't want his own computer to be used for whatever reason.

The water started to boil right around the same time as John's temper. He took the kettle off the stove, and suddenly a thought hit him.

His porn collection. Shit.

John put his hand over his face, trying to rube awareness into his own eyes. What time was it? He checked his watch, surprised to find that it was already after noon, and this a Monday. At least he wasn't needed at the surgery today, but that was no excuse to be slovenly in his habits. John didn't want to know, however, what Sherlock Holmes could be doing out in the city with a laptop full of bisexual porn. He pulled his mobile over to him, from where it lay on the counter, plugged in to its charger.

He tapped out a message to Sherlock:

 **Where are you?**

A few moments passed before the reply came.

 **British Museum  
SH**

John huffed to himself. Why there? That case was over with, they had found the bloody diamond! He started typing again.

 **Again? What for?**

A longer pause this time.

 **Research  
SH**

What in the bloody hell could that mean? He decided to come right to the topic that had made him text in the first place.

 **And my laptop?**

Another long pause.

 **Research tool  
SH**

John sighed aloud. It didn't seem like he was going to get much out of the man. He would just have to wait until Sherlock came back.

*****

John was reclining in the armchair, watching crap telly when he heard the front door of the building open and slam shut with a bang, immediately followed by the rapid artillery-fire sound of Sherlock pounding his way up the stairs at high speed. John resolutely kept his eyes on the screen, refusing to look around at the man, still rather bothered that his laptop had been taken without his permission. However, Sherlock burst into the room with such sound and obvious high spirits that he couldn't help but turn around and stare at him in amazement.

He had rarely seen Sherlock in such fine form. He was breathing hard, his milky skin tinted pink high on his cheeks, his hair all over the place - sticking up at the back of his head, falling in his eyes at the front. His long coat was buttoned up right to the neck under his ubiquitous scarf. Under his arm was John's laptop. He was in the process of pulling off his leather gloves finger by finger when John caught his eyes. He was _smiling_. Unbelievable.

John tried to maintain his glare, but couldn't at the sight of the excited-looking man.

"Well, what's gotten into you then, Sherlock?" he asked, holding one hand out to receive the laptop, which the other man gladly turned over. John promptly put it back on the table, quickly turning it on, planning to check that the contents were all present and accounted for.

Sherlock didn't answer him directly, but instead said, "Thank you very much, John, for the use of your laptop. It was most illuminating, if somewhat puzzling at times."

John's gaze lifted up to meet with Sherlock again. "Er...pardon?"

"Your pornography."

John flushed, and he could feel the colour in his face starting in his cheeks and traveling both up and down to rise into his hair and lower into his shirt collar.

"Uh..."

Sherlock stopped him before he could get any further. "I had been wondering if it was really plausible for a man to spend an entire fifteen minutes wanking off, considering that you yourself found your climax in 5.34 minutes. So, after last night's successful events, I decided to re-create the scenario myself."

John's face went from red to pale green in seconds. "You... you _what_?"

Sherlock smirked at his discomfort. "Not to worry, I wasn't detected. And anyway it was not successful, no matter how much of your pornography I perused. I continued to have my problem with sustaining an erec-"

"-yes, okay, I see," interrupted John, his face once again shifting to the pink end of the scale. He knew he would regret even asking, but he couldn't help himself. "So how did you, uh, re-create the scenario?"

Stepping out into the hallway to hang up his coat, Sherlock's voice came back to John just a little bit muffled. "I found a relatively quiet loo on the second floor and went into a stall, and sat down with your laptop and a pair of headphones."

John could picture the situation perfectly. Curse his imagination.

"...I was 40 minutes into your file folder marked 'stool samples' (and by the way, how you thought that was a good decoy name to give your porn folder, I'll never understand) when I finally gave up. No matter what video I looked at, no matter the look of the actors and/or actresses, or even the kind of sex act involved, nothing did so much for me as what watching you touch yourself for five minutes last night did."

At this John glanced up and their eyes met again. John shifted his away again, pretending to be carefully perusing the computer screen. Yes, all of his material was still there. And from the time and date codes on the files, nearly _all_ of them had been viewed within the last few hours.

"So," Sherlock resumed, finally coming to settle himself down on the sofa, "while the experiment was a failure - I couldn't even get my parts working to test the subject matter-"

John squeezed his eyes shut at this.

"-I did seem to discover something else by way of elimination. Alone, I cannot become aroused. Either with images from my own mind, or with images of all kinds provided by pornography. The only time I have managed to become aroused, and even more important, managed to climax sexually, it has been with you, John. So while I had always considered myself asexual, I now must consider that I could very well be... well, for want of a better word, _John_ sexual."

John's eyes popped open again. He couldn't believe that he could be reduced to actually spluttering twice within 24 hours, but there you are - Sherlock had proved him wrong, as always. John swallowed hard, and then realized that he still had not apologised for his behavior the night before.

"Sherlock, look. Last night? I'm really sorry I laughed at you for the way you reacted to my...wank. I didn't mean to hurt you, or insult you, or drive you off. I hope you'll forgive me for that. But I don't know if it's a good idea for you to decide your sexual orientation on watching one man wank. It could be that you simply need personal, one-on-one contact, visual or otherwise, to maintain arousal. I think that the best thing to do, if you want to explore this side of yourself, is that you find yourself a willing partner, and experiment with them to see what you like and what you don't. And you should try it with a woman," John noted Sherlock's look of distaste and went on, "...or with another man. You can't limit yourself to one test subject, after all, Sherlock, when running an experiment."

Sherlock stared at him, looking thoughtful. "Yes, John, you're right. I must level the field and vary the subjects. Thank you for your input."

And with that, Sherlock jumped back up and re-dressed himself, preparing to leave once again.

John was confused. "You just got here, Sherlock, where are you going?"

"I've waited 30-odd years, John. I'm ready to find out more about this subject _now_ , and it's not like I have a case keeping me busy. This at least will keep the boredom at bay for a day or two." He was already halfway down the stairs when he finished the sentence. "Goodbye, John."

"Right, yeah, goodbye..." called John in return, and the door slammed shut on his final word.

Why on earth did he feel so wretched? John truly didn't know. He drank his tea and stared at the wall.

*****

Sherlock returned not two hours later in quite the state. His right eye had been blacked, and a red hand-print stood out starkly on his left cheek.

"My god, Sherlock, what happened?" cried John, on seeing the state of the man.

Sherlock took some time putting his outer clothes away again before answering. It was now late afternoon, and the sun was going down. He said nothing at all until he had slapped on a nicotine patch and sprawled himself out on the sofa, staring at John out of his good eye.

"It seems, John, that women do not take well to being asked to engage in coitus shortly after meeting."

John couldn't help it, and burst out laughing again. "Let me guess. The black eye is from her boyfriend or, maybe, her husband?"

Sherlock glared at John for a moment, and then looked down at his feet. "No. I may be inexperienced with sexual matters, John, but I am able to deduce whether or not a woman is involved with another man or not. No, this eye would be from the small blond man whom I asked to engage in a tryst with me in a different pub. It seems men feel the same way that women do, sometimes."

John shook his head. He tried hard not to laugh again. "Yes, we small blond men have standards too, Sherlock!"

The man only grunted unhappily in response. John thought that maybe this wasn't the way for Sherlock to find out more about his sexual orientation. Perhaps...

"Perhaps, John, you would be willing to help with this line of experimentation?"

John nearly jumped out of his seat. Sherlock couldn't read minds, could he? No. Absolutely not, it was not possible. But it was eerie all the same.

"Uhmmm..." John intoned, shuffling slightly in his seat, "how exactly do you mean? Are you wanting to watch me again?" Curse his blood, he thought, the blush was returning.

"Oh John, absolutely not," the man replied, and John eased up a little. "No, this time I'd like to be personally involved in your orgasm, if I may?"

John widened his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear his mind of any cobwebs that may be lurking there, distorting the sound of what was actually being said. "Pardon me?"

Sherlock was grinning - perhaps because finally this time he had not ended up with a hand to the face for his efforts, open fist _or_ closed. "I would like, John, to rub my penis against you, and have you do the same to me. Against your body, and maybe against your face? That, in the videos, looked like a good place to start. What do you think?"

John was suddenly absolutely clear on why Sherlock had been punched in the face. Repeatedly. "Oh god, Sherlock. We have to work on what is appropriate to say to someone and what isn't."

"Oh, I couldn't care less what's 'appropriate', John-" Sherlock started, but John interrupted. "I know you don't care, Sherlock, but you will get nothing but punches and slaps from strangers if you do not modify the way you approach people for sex."

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully, and shifted over so that there was enough space on the sofa for the two of them. John hesitantly sat beside the larger man, lowering himself gingerly onto the cushions. "So that's not a 'no' then?" John shook his head.

"Then that's a yes," asked Sherlock, wanting to be absolutely clear - at this point another shot to the head would put him face-first into a concussion.

"Yes."

"How should we start this then?" asked Sherlock, his lack of experience showing.

John was doing his best to conquer his natural sexual reticence, and to simply enjoy what was to come. It was not often that he had an actual sexual partner, and Sherlock was indeed beautiful in his own gawky, lanky and angular way. John began by unbuckling his own trousers, and after a moment, Sherlock followed suit. And when John pushed his trousers and pants all the way off, Sherlock did the same. John pulled the jumper over his head, and then leaned forward to help unbutton Sherlock's button-down shirt.

Finally both men were naked on the sofa, each with a little pile of clothes at his feet. John was already rock hard, and had been since Sherlock had asked to rub off on him. Sherlock was well on his way to hardness, John saw, and was pleased to see that it was so. It showed that the man was indeed attracted to John, and that attraction was flattering.

Sherlock interrupted his thoughts. "May I touch it, John?" Sherlock asked, somewhat primly.

John nodded, words stuck in his throat. Sherlock reached out one long, thin, pale arm and as soon as his fingertips came in contact with John's cock, both men shuddered at the sensation. John's cock surged and twitched, and the head of Sherlock's cock was now being exposed from beneath his foreskin as he grew harder by the second. John reached his own hand down to touch Sherlock, and the other man took a deep breath, which caught in his throat and John's first caress of his flesh. It was mere seconds before Sherlock was fully hard.

The two of them leaned back against the sofa, hands on each other's cocks, stroking and pulling and comparing sizes and shapes silently. Sherlock was longer, but John was thicker, Sherlock had a little more in the way of loose foreskin, and John had larger balls, even if Sherlock's seemed to hang lower. Sherlock paused for a moment, and reached his free hand down to his trouser pocket and rustled around until he found the tube he had apparently been carrying around in his pocket all day - the very tube of lubricant from John's bedside drawer. John opened his mouth to ask how he had managed to snatch it, but shut it quickly again as a freshly-lubed hand engulfed his dick, squeezing and pulling and stroking, playing with the foreskin and the head, flicking his fingers around the rim. How on earth had Sherlock gotten so talented, so fast?

Sherlock obviously could tell what he was thinking as he whispered, "It's amazing what those videos will teach someone who is eager to learn." He looked down into his own lap. "And look, John - you've been able to do in two minutes what piles of porn had been unable to do in over 40."

John looked, and indeed Sherlock's cock was hard, red and throbbing, long and slim, curved slightly to the right and a bead of pre-ejaculate was welling at the tip. John reached for the lubricant and slicked up his own hand, then applied it once more to Sherlock's prick. The larger man groaned at the difference, and John took care to slip and slide his hand up and down Sherlock's cock with as much finesse as he could muster, to squeeze and stroke and play and pet.

Suddenly, however, it seemed that is was not enough for Sherlock, who growled under his breath and leaned over John until he had made them nearly horizontal on the sofa. He helped John pull his legs up onto the sofa underneath his own legs, and they fell into place perfectly with Sherlock on top, lining his cock up with John's, the both of them thrusting erratically against each other. Both men were panting loudly, and John could feel both of Sherlock's hands coming around to grab each of his arse cheeks for purchase and so that he could grind the two of them together. The biproduct of this was that John's anus was being exposed to the world as both cheeks were pulled on, and John felt absolutely _filthy_ in the most delicious of ways, knowing that if anyone were watching, his twitching hole would be right there for anyone to see.

Sherlock made good on his idea, and after a few minutes of frottage against each other, Sherlock came up and straddled John's upper chest, and took his cock in hand and began rubbing it against John's cheeks. First one side, and then the other - then stroking across his forehead. He turned John's head to the side and rubbed the head of his cock into John's ear, and did the same with the other ear, leaving a trail of pre-come wherever he went. John tried again and again to open his mouth and take the leaking cockhead into his throat, but Sherlock wouldn't have it for some reason. Finally Sherlock pulled his cock up and balanced his balls on John's chin, and rubbed the the head of his cock over each of John's eyes, leaving more traces of pre-come on John's fluttering eyelashes.

John was drowning in the pleasure he felt. He had taken himself in hand, as Sherlock was busy up top, and was stroking himself quickly as he felt the heavy weight of Sherlock's balls sitting on his chin, one ball coming to rest on his slightly open mouth. He slipped his tongue out just a bit, just to feel the wrinkled skin, and loved the gasp that Sherlock let loose at the sensation. Finally, he slipped his tongue out again and, moving his face so that Sherlock's balls now balanced on his nose, he slipped out his tongue once more and applied it to Sherlock's perineum, fluttering it against the slightly hairy skin, putting pressure where he could.

Above him, he heard Sherlock gasp, and then groan, and suddenly he felt drops of heated liquid sliding up his forehead and into his hair. Fuck, thought John, I've never had anyone come in my _hair_ before. That's a new one! But by this time, John himself was getting desperate - things had been a little one-sided for too long.

"Up!" he commanded, and Sherlock, to his credit, obeyed almost immediately. John ignored the stripes of come on his forehead and in his hair, and simply say up, directing Sherlock to lie down on the sofa on his front. Sherlock, eyes soft with post-coital lassitude, obeyed without question.

John straddled the man's upper thighs. He grabbed for the forgotten lubricant where it had fallen beside the sofa, and slicked his cock with it again, freshly. Then he took a dollop of it and opened Sherlock's arse cheeks and slicked his cleft from top to bottom. John then brought his body in low, and placed his cock between Sherlock's cheeks, then squeezed those cheeks together, forming a tight little sheath to thrust his cock into.

And thrust into it he did. With every thrust the head of his cock battered momentarily against Sherlock's virgin entrance, always threatening to breach it, but never quite daring to do so. After all, that had not been part of their discussion, and how did John know that Sherlock did not plan to save that particular part of himself for someone special? He didn't, so he contained his urge to simply thrust into that heat and take, take, take. As it was, he thrust ecstatically into the sheath provided by Sherlock's lush buttocks, and he reached orgasm extremely quickly. He grunted with his final thrust, and his cock spasmed and jerked as he spilled hot and wet over Sherlock's back, and pulling back himself, just in time, he was able to spill a little bit of come directly onto Sherlock's tight anus. Ah, God, John thought, maybe someday... maybe the day would come when he could get inside that gorgeous heat... but he shoved the thought aside as he came down from his high.

John stood up slowly and made a grab for a dishrag sitting on the counter-top in the kitchen. He first wiped his forehead and hair, and then wiped off Sherlock's back so that he could roll back over without making a mess. But Sherlock didn't roll over immediately; in fact, he kept his face hidden for several long moments, to the point that John suddenly became sure that he had done something wrong, that he had caused Sherlock some distress, had even somehow forced him to do something that he had not wanted.

John grasped Sherlock's shoulder and rolled him over gently, trying to prepare himself for what he would see on the man's face when it appeared. But what he saw was wonderful - it was a look of pure, smug pleasure.

Sherlock looked up in John's relieved face and asked, "so was it good for you too?"

John burst out laughing. "Touche," he gasped, so relieved that he was almost breathless.

Sherlock sat up, allowing John to sit next to him. They did so, every inch of their sides in connection with each other, and John didn't want to ever move. But he knew Sherlock, and knew the man would be eager to continue on with his experiments.

John was unsure what to think, himself. He honestly had not wanted to get involved with this entire wanking/sex/orientation thing with Sherlock, and now he found himself absolutely embroiled in it. And he knew that Sherlock need to do some exploring of himself - try different people, different sexes, different experiences. But John suddenly found that he didn't want to share anymore. How on earth was he going to broach the subject with Sherlock? He was baffled. And more than a little worried.

*****


End file.
